Playing to the Firmament
by Swing Girl At Heart
Summary: Mercedes had always hated to be ignored. Being invisible is her worst nightmare, but she never thought it would happen like this. Expect the Unexpected.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: So, this is part of the _Expect The Unexpected_ series I'm working on, which is, frankly, exactly what it sounds like. As part of my everlasting quest to defy any and all possible cliches, something completely unfathomable occurs with one member of the Glee club in each fic of the series. The goal? To have each character (even Matt and Mike, poor underfed pups) so far out of their league, but still remain in character. This is installment number five, but none of them are connected plot-wise, so there aren't any prequels you have to read for any of them. Some will be tragic, some scary, some mysterious, some humorous. Enough jabber - please enjoy!**

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**_Playing To The Firmament_**  
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Mercedes hefted her bag onto her shoulder as she climbed up the steps to school. She still had ten minutes before the bell rang, but most of that time was usually spent gossiping with Kurt. So, after a quick stop at her locker to retrieve her math textbook, she hurried down the hall to where Kurt was intently focused on picking a microscopic piece of lint off of one of the articles of clothing he stored in his locker.

She didn't bother with a hello and immediately launched into their usual routine, leaning against the locker next to his. "Oh my _God_, have you _seen_ what Rachel is wearing today?" She shook her head. "We gotta give that girl a permanent makeover one of these days, 'cause she seriously needs help."

Kurt hadn't looked up from what he was doing. Which was odd considering the fact that she'd mentioned a makeover.

"Earth to Kurt. Hello." She snapped her fingers in front of his face to get his attention.

Still, he didn't acknowledge that she was there.

"Kurt, what's with the silent treatment?" Mercedes asked, her tone half-angry, half-gentle. "Did I do something?" She didn't think that she had, considering that they'd been texting the night before and there had been absolutely nothing even resembling an argument, not even over whether or not Puck would look good in Alexander McQueen (trying to imagine Puck on the runway, garbed in the latest fashion for both men and women was quite the entertaining pastime, as it turned out, and usually ended up with Kurt giggling hysterically on the floor of his basement bedroom).

"Are you mad at me for something?" she tried again, this time grabbing Kurt's shoulder and turning him around to face her.

Mercedes knew it was weird, but it was almost like his gaze went right through her. Like even though he was looking directly at her, he couldn't see her. "Kurt, answer me," she said, and she couldn't say she was entirely surprised when he didn't. Almost in a dazed state, he turned back to his locker, shoving a couple of textbooks into his bag and shutting the door with a light bang before strutting off down the hall.

"What the hell?" she muttered as the bell rang shrilly throughout the corridors.

Heaving a sigh, she followed in the direction Kurt had headed in – they had math class together first period. As she walked through the classroom door, she reached into her bag to get her math textbook out, only to discover that it wasn't there. She swore under her breath – she was certain she'd put it in her bag while she was at her locker just a few minutes before, but perhaps her memory was playing tricks on her. "Sorry, Mr. Baxter, I forgot my book. I'll be right back, I promise," she said quickly to the teacher, rushing back out without waiting for a reply.

When she came back, she tried not to make too much of a disturbance as she sat down at her desk between Kurt and Hayley Grafton, one of the girls from the Cheerio team, but even though her chair squealed loudly when she pulled it back, none of them seemed to mind or even notice. Mr. Baxter continued with his lecture on the Pythagorean theorem uninterrupted. Mercedes opened her bag to fish out her textbook, her jaw dropping when she found that again, it was not there. She growled under her breath, resigning to withdrawing only her notebook.

The second Mr. Baxter's back was turned, she tore off a corner of one page and scrawled "_why the hell aren't you talking to me?_" across it, reaching over and placing it on Kurt's desk next to his notebook. He continued to calmly take notes as Mercedes grew more and more frustrated.

When she was almost certain that she was going to rip him a new one once class was over, she saw him move out of the corner of her eye, and watched as he drew his cell phone out of his pocket, punching buttons with practiced speed while simultaneously keeping an eye on Mr. Baxter. Seconds after the phone disappeared from view, Mercedes' own phone vibrated against her leg. Finally, a response.

She tilted her head to read the text message as inconspicuously as possible, her stomach flipping when she read it.

_Hey, baby-girl, where are you?_

Suddenly furious – because she did _not_ enjoy pranks, and Kurt knew that better than anyone – she angrily punched in a reply ("_this is not funny and if u dont talk 2 me in the next 15 secs, i will kill u_") and hit Send. She listened for the telltale buzz from Kurt's pocket to force him into checking his messages, but she heard nothing, and Kurt continued to take notes. Frowning, she pulled out her cell again and opened her outbox to make sure the text had been sent, but there was no record of it even being created. She grumbled under her breath, shoving the phone back into her jeans and resolving to berate her dad once again for getting her an old piece-of-shit cellular device (because no matter how much bling she could add to it, it was still a piece of shit on the inside – _Like Puck_, she'd once reasoned).

"Okay," said Mr. Baxter, calling the students' attention to the front of the room once his lecture was finished. "Why don't you all work on your partner projects from last class for the rest of the period? Try to work quietly, please."

Kurt raised his hand. "Excuse me, Mr. Baxter? What should we do if our partner is absent?"

At that, Mercedes decided she'd had enough. She lurched to her feet, slamming her hands flat on her desktop. "Okay, Kurt, that is _it_. This is _not_ funny, and I swear to God if you do not say something to me soon, I will personally set fire to every single thing in your wardrobe, starting with the ones you're wearing."

"You can work on the homework assignment and meet up with Mercedes during study hall," Mr. Baxter was saying to Kurt, who nodded and opened his textbook.

Mercedes stared at Mr. Baxter, amazed at the fact that one of the stricter teachers at McKinley hadn't even reprimanded her for suddenly yelling in the middle of class. She looked back to Kurt, furiously scribbling away at the homework assignment as if nothing had happened, and noticed that the note she'd passed was not on his desk. A quick scan of the surrounding floor proved that it had not fallen off the edge, and she dropped heavily back into her seat, feeling frustrated and more than a little confused.

As she went to open her notebook, resigning to work on the homework as Kurt was doing, she was shocked when it wasn't on her desk. Frowning, she reached down for her bag, but it had also disappeared. "What the hell?" she muttered. "Kurt, did you see anyone take my bag?" Still, Kurt didn't respond. "Kurt," she said again. "Kurt!"

Finally, she stood up, marching around her desk to stand across from him. Reaching forward, she roughly grabbed his shoulders, forcing his gaze away from his work. "You look at me when I'm talking to you, Valentino!" she spat, her tone clearly stating that she was Not. Fucking. Around.

Kurt's eyes appeared to just slide off her, returning to his work. A muscle twitched beneath Mercedes' eye, her jaw clenched, and without really thinking, she grabbed his textbook out from under his nose and hurled it across the room. It smashed into the neat stacks of paper across Mr. Baxter's desk, sending most of them to the floor and making a cup full of pencils practically explode in his face. Mercedes' mouth pressed into a tight line and she looked back to Kurt to see his reaction.

He was still writing, and his textbook hadn't budged.

Mercedes whipped back around to see the damage done to Mr. Baxter's workspace, nearly shrieking when she saw that every single item was back in its place, with no evidence of being disturbed. Her heart rate quickening, her eyes leaped from classmate to classmate – not a single one of them seemed to have noticed that she had even stood up. She reached over and repeated her textbook-toss, this time sending it into the window and creating a resounding _crack_ upon impact. A single glassy line snaked across the pane where it had broken and the book slumped to the floor. Her stomach twisted painfully in her gut as right before her eyes, the crack in the glass wavered and was gone in the blink of an eye. The book had returned to its place on Kurt's desk.

She screamed.

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**A/N: Please leave a review and tell me what you think of it. If you enjoyed it and are interested in the concept of this series, add me to Author Alert to be notified when the other installments in the series are posted. So far, only Brittany's, Santana's, Kurt's, and Puck's are up - check them out, they're titled Tus Spiritus Sancti, La Vida Loca, Take Me Away, and Sun Gone Lost, respectively.  
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	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Last chapter I completely forgot to mention that this was inspired by the movie _The Invisible_, which is an AWESOME film and, incidentally, has Cory Monteith in it. You should go rent it. Now.

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Every person who knew Mercedes also knew that she hated to be ignored. She craved the spotlight, and with her style and general attitude, rarely had to work to get it. So this was, quite literally, a nightmare come to life. She had waved her hands frantically in front of every person's face, thrown every book, smashed every window, and even written across the board – anything to try to get their attention. But nothing she did stuck.

So now she found herself in the girl's bathroom, sobbing so hard that her fingertips were tingling from the lack of oxygen. Three girls had come and gone while she was there, not a single one of them batting an eye at the crying girl standing at the sinks before they adjusted their hair and walked away. Mercedes stared at herself in the mirror, her face streaked with tear tracks both old and new, her makeup smudged, her expression terrified. She could definitely see herself. She was definitely there. She felt solid. So why could no one see her?

The door swung open again and she turned to see Kurt entering (he'd always felt more comfortable in the girl's room anyways), setting his bag on the counter and pulling out his cell phone. By this time, she was no longer surprised when he paid no attention to her.

"Hey, 'Cedes, it's me," he said, holding the phone to his ear. "If you're home sick, can you please call me? I'm starting to get worried." He sighed and hung up, checking his hair in the mirror.

There was no more doubt in Mercedes' mind now. As weird and unnatural and upsetting and fucking _scary_ as it was, she was absolutely certain that he could not see her. And she had no idea why.

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The choir room had always served as a haven for the less popular Glee kids, and Mercedes was no exception. She needed a place where there wouldn't be people coming and going, a place that was quiet where she could sit and think and try to sort this out, whatever this was. Mr. Schue was working away in his tiny office annex, and she could see him through the window and hear his papers rustling around through the open door, but as expected he didn't notice her presence.

Eventually, Brad entered and poked his head into Mr. Schue's office, saying something about a new arrangement he'd come up with for the Glee club the night before. Mr. Schue dropped what he was doing and they relocated to the piano. Mercedes observed as Brad showed him the chords he'd been thinking of for the song – some Sarah McLachlan classic – and suddenly realized just how much work the guy put into the club despite the fact that none of them spoke to him outside of telling him to start the music. And with that realization came a single terrifying question:

Was this a punishment? Was this meant to be a lesson, to force her to see the invisibles that faded into the background of her social circle as she outshone them?

Her train of thought was interrupted when Mr. Schue said that Rachel would do well with Sarah McLachlan (even when she was invisible, her brain was hardwired to pay attention to solo assignments). She was surprised when Brad placed his hands on his knees and said, "Actually, I was thinking Mercedes could do it. Girl's got quite a set of pipes, and I think she'd make it sound fresh."

The good feeling produced by the praise was short-lived, however, as Mr. Schue sighed, running his hand through his hair in agitation, muttering something too quiet for Mercedes to pick up.

Brad's eyes widened and his jaw dropped slightly. "_What?_"

Okay, that was not good. She stood up and walked over to stand beside them, staring at Mr. Schue as he spoke. "They don't know what happened. She was just…gone."

"What, she ran away?" Brad asked.

"That's what the police think, but they're looking for her."

"Jeez. When are you going to tell the kids?"

"This afternoon at practice." Mr. Schue ran his hand through his hair again. "Kurt's going to freak."

Brad made a noise of agreement. "Well, I'm sure she's fine," he said, sounding not at all confident.

"Yeah," Mr. Schue agreed, fiddling with the sheet music Brad had given him. "Yeah, I'm sure she is. I'll see you later, Brad."

As Brad left and Mr. Schue returned to his office, Mercedes was left at the piano, her heart racing as she tried to make sense of what she just heard.

She was missing. And she'd been missing for long enough to get the police involved.

Was she dead? Was that was this was?

She racked her brain, trying to remember if she'd spoken to her parents that morning. Her fear levels skyrocketed, though, when she realized she couldn't remember doing _anything_ before arriving at school. The last thing she could recall doing was going out to the 7-Eleven near her house to grab some snacks for a movie night she was having with her brother, who was home from college for the week. She sunk onto the piano bench, resting her head in her hands and closing her eyes and trying to force her memory to show her anything beyond that.

Because after the 7-Eleven, she couldn't remember going home.

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**A/N: If you've ever read my stories before, you'll know that I love cliffies. Please review!**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: This took a LONG time to write - hope you like it!

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Unable to think of anything else to do, Mercedes waited in the choir room for Glee practice to begin, and for once, she was not thinking at all about solos or song arrangements. By lunchtime, she had given up on trying to remember anything past leaving the 7-Eleven the previous evening, and by last period she'd given up on trying to draw any more information from Brad and Mr. Schue's conversation. She attempted instead to focus her thoughts on the fact that Mr. Schue would be telling the Glee kids all he knew about her disappearance during practice, which meant that she had to be there to hear it, just for the possibility that there was anything else besides what he'd told Brad.

She held her breath when the door opened and Rachel walked in, wishing for the first time in her life that her rival diva would just _talk_ to her, holding on to a last shred of hope that none of this was real. But Rachel remained quiet as she bustled about the room, setting up chairs and music stands and even fiddling with some of the band equipment. Slowly, the rest of the club began to filter in, taking their regular seats and sending not so much as a glance towards where Mercedes sat at the very back. Most of them were chatting amicably amongst themselves, but Kurt was absorbed in his phone. Mercedes' cell continuously buzzed in her pocket, but reading Kurt's frantic texts asking where she was and why she wasn't responding to him was another thing she'd given up on.

The group quieted down as Mr. Schue emerged from his office and took his place in the middle of the floor. The smiles on most of their faces faded as they noticed his somber expression – he clearly did not like what he was about to say.

"I have some…regrettable news to give you guys," he said. No one spoke. He rubbed the back of his neck, nervous. "Figgins got a call from the police department this morning. Mercedes has gone missing."

Before he could go on, there was an uproar as everyone clamored to ask what had happened. Mr. Schue raised his hands, trying to quiet them down, and when they finally did, he said, "They really don't know anything yet, okay? She went out late last night for some reason and never came back home. No one's seen or heard from her. Now, they're not taking anything drastic into consideration right now, but it is _really_ important that if _any_ one of you knows anything about where she is, you need to speak up about it now."

A heavy silence settled over the club as they all absorbed the information Mr. Schue had just given them. Mercedes' pulse was roaring in her ears, and she was glad that Kurt was sitting in front of her so that she didn't have to see the expression on his face. That would have been more than she could handle. Instead, she looked to the other members to see their reactions. Tina was crying softly into Artie's shoulder, Mike had braced his elbows against his knees and laced his hands together beneath his chin as if he was in prayer, and Brittany was asking Santana something about Narnia.

Then, she saw Puck sitting at the far end of the risers. He was leaning back in his chair, trying his best to maintain the stony face he was known for, but Mercedes could see from where she sat that he was rubbing his fingers together at his sides – a nervous tick she'd never noticed before. She frowned. He was looking away from the group and Mr. Schue, his lips pressed into a tight line and his nostrils flared as he breathed. She recognized that expression.

It was guilt. And fear.

In the back of her mind, she heard Mr. Schue's voice as he dismissed them all, saying there was no point in holding practice when they were so distraught. She stared as Puck quickly stood up, discreetly wiping his palms on his jeans, and exited the room ahead of the others.

Mercedes felt rage bloom in her chest, and she shoved her way through the dispersing Gleeks, ignoring how not a single one noticed they were being jostled aside as she practically ran to keep up with Puck. Forgetting for a few moments in her anger that the world was deaf and blind to her, she yelled after him, "What the hell did you do to me, Mohawk? _What the hell did you do?_"

He stopped in his tracks and whipped his head around, his eyes wildly searching the empty hall.

Mercedes stopped as well, shock spreading over her face. "You heard me," she whispered. "You heard me!"

Puck backed up, looking absolutely scared _shitless_ (which might have been comedic in other circumstances) as he spun on his heel and practically ran out of the building.

Mercedes followed, catching up to him just as he was climbing into his truck. "Puck!" she screamed. "Puck, listen to me. Just – just tell me where I am, please! Puck, just tell me where I am!"

He heard her. She _knew_ he heard her. But he slammed his door shut, turned the keys in the ignition, and pealed out of the parking lot, leaving Mercedes alone with more questions added and none answered.

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When Puck's truck had driven out of sight, Mercedes had screamed at nothing in sheer frustration, kicking over a nearby traffic cone by the side of the road only to have it stand back upright and make her scream again. Once she'd managed to work her fury back into her control, she sat down on the guardrail and tried to evaluate her options, and finally decided that going to look for herself on her own would be the best thing to do.

That didn't make any sense.

Grumbling at the sheer absurdity of the entire situation, she walked from the school to the 7-Eleven nearest to her house – a good five-mile journey – and discovered that one of the very, _very_ few advantages to being nonexistent was that she'd didn't get tired. She could definitely recall leaving the store the night before, and so she didn't go inside, but instead followed the route to her house.

The Jones residence was on the edge of town, and so alongside one side of the road she was on grew a relatively dense forest, the carpet of pine needles littered with trash and cigarette butts from the local teenagers. She walked slowly, peering down over the edge of the embankment, though she had a feeling that if a body had just been lying there, it would have been noticed by then. Heaving a sigh, she stepped over the guardrail and climbed down the slope, her feet slipping a little on the soft soil. It smelled damp, like rotting leaves and moss and garbage. She shuddered to think of the possibility that she could be laying out here somewhere, but she trudged on, keeping an eye on the sunlight poking through between the trees. She may have been invisible, but she didn't want to be in the woods once it got dark.

Shivering a little in the damp chill, she kept her eyes moving constantly, searching every little detail of her surroundings. When the road was out of sight behind her, and the passing cars were almost impossible to hear, a loud _crunch_ echoed from beneath her shoe, a sound different than that of the twigs underfoot. Stepping back, she knelt and picked up the thing she'd stepped on, her heart clenching when she recognized the cracked plastic and fiberglass covered in dirt.

It was her cell phone.

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**A/N: So, I may not be able to update for another couple of weeks. I leave on Wednesday to go to Crete for vacation until the beginning of August, and I'm not sure I'll have the time to finish another chapter by then. I probably will, but I'm letting you guys know just in case, because you're awesome. And speaking of being awesome, review!**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: I started this chap maybe five different ways before it felt right. Hope you like it!

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Mercedes' father was a Goliath of a man. Standing taller than Finn and broader than Puck, with a booming voice that had an uncanny resemblance to that of James Earl Jones, he was a man who commanded attention and respect. He was a multitasker – he ran his orthodontic surgery office smoothly with three other dentists under his jurisdiction, he organized Alcoholics Anonymous meetings for the town, he had fought in the first war in Iraq, he made sure that all three of his sons went to colleges and good colleges at that. He had ensured that his wife, a hygienist from Florida, would never be short of money even if she were to quit her job. He was many things, but first and foremost, Walter Jones was a father. He had made damn sure that each of his four kids had known with absolutely no room for doubt that their Dad loved them to a ridiculous degree, and that he loved them equally – there would be no quarrels over who was Papa's favorite under his roof.

He had believed fiercely all his life that if he could accomplish these things, then karma would look favorably on him. He should have taken a hint from the Abrams and the Hudsons. Walter had known Jim Hudson and Allen Abrams while they were in Iraq together in the '90s. They'd done everything right, too.

Or maybe this was some karmic payback, the universe kicking their asses over everything they'd done over in Iraq. Jim Hudson had snuffed it, then Allen's kid got his spine snapped, and now Walter's baby girl was out there, missing, and nobody knew what had happened. Walter had friends in the police force. He knew how this worked. There was only a limited set of possibilities for what could have happened to her, and none of them were good.

"Hey, Pop," said Quentin, walking into the kitchen where Walter sat quietly at the table with a beer in his hand. Quentin was his middle son, his second-eldest child, now only a year away from receiving his master's degree. He grabbed a beer from the fridge and sat down across from his father. "How's Mom doing?"

"She's upstairs, taking a nap," Walter replied.

"Any word from the cops?"

Walter knew that Quentin already knew the answer to that question, but he answered anyway. "No." There was a long silence, and eventually, Walter spoke. "It's been two days," he said, staring at the framed picture on the wall of a six-year-old Mercedes, grinning widely and holding up a tiny trophy she'd won in a singing competition.

"They're gonna find her, Pop," Quentin said.

"No, I know that," Walter said. "I just… I just wish I _knew_."

"Yeah, me too, Pop. Me too."

It was oddly reassuring, to be able to watch your family miss you after you've disappeared to God-knows-where, Mercedes thought as she leaned against the kitchen counter, watching her dad and brother talk. If there was one positive thing she could take from being disconnected from her body, it was that at least she wasn't off somewhere wondering if her parents and brothers were worried about her or even knew she was gone. She had searched the woods until it got dark and she could barely see her hand in front of her face, and had groped her way back to the road, stumbling all the way home in tears.

It was now early afternoon, and she had spent the last twelve hours following her father around as he had been on and off the phone with the police, alternating between trying to gain information from them and yelling at them for not putting enough effort into the search. It was Lima, after all. It wasn't like the other cops had a lot of stuff they needed to be doing.

Sighing, Mercedes forced herself to leave her father and brother in the kitchen and make her way out of the house. It was time to stop moping about her family and start earning her return to existence, if such a return was even possible.

She knew where Puck lived because his house was on the opposite end of the street Kurt lived on. She wanted desperately to go into Kurt's house and check up on him (there was no way he went to school today), but she had unsettled business with the Mohawk. As she approached his house, he was just coming out of the garage, wiping his hands on an old rag. She picked up the pace, falling in step behind him just as he climbed the stairs to his front door.

"Noah!" a high-pitched shriek battered against their eardrums in greeting. A small girl streaked out of the living room and snaked her arms around Puck's waist. He rolled his eyes.

"I've only been out for a few hours, Sarah," he grumbled, making his way towards the kitchen, dragging his little sister along as she refused to let go.

"No, you were out there all morning, even though you promised you'd help me with my fort today," she argued.

"Whatever," he said, rummaging around in the fridge. "Hey, did you eat the last of the challa bread?"

Sarah gave him a funny look. "Noah, that was you."

"…Right."

"Can you help me with my fort now? _Please?_"

"Let go of my leg, will you?"

"Not until you promise to help me with my fort."

Puck grumbled and shut the fridge. "_Fine_," he drawled. "Fine, I will. Would you let go of me now?"

Sarah grinned, released him, and dashed out of the kitchen. Puck shook his head and pulled a bag of chips out of a cupboard. There was a loud crash from the living room.

"I thought I said the coffee table was off-limits!" Puck bellowed.

"I didn't do anything!"

"Put the table back," he ordered. "Or Mom's gonna kick my ass when she comes home."

It was odd for Mercedes to see Puck in such a domestic setting – so much so that it was bordering on amusing. But she had more pressing matters than watching Puck babysit, so she refocused and ignored the sounds of Sarah dragging the furniture around in the living room. She wasn't quite sure how to go about talking with Puck and trying to garner information from him when he couldn't see her, nor did she know if he could still hear her or if what happened in the school hallway the day before was a one-time thing.

"Puck," she said loudly.

He froze, looking around the room.

Good. He could hear her. On to step two. "Puck, listen—"

"_What do you want?_" he hissed in alarm.

Mercedes was suddenly angry. He'd done this to _her_. He didn't have a right to act like he wasn't responsible. "I want you to help me!" she cried. "What did you do to me?"

Puck leaned against the sink, splashing cold water on his face. "Fuck, I'm going insane," he muttered to himself, barely loud enough for Mercedes to hear.

"Oh, no, you are _not_ playing that card now," Mercedes said. "Puck, you are the _only one_ who can hear me – you have to help me."

He ran a hand through his mohawk.

"Please," Mercedes whispered. "What did you do?"

He sighed. "I – I panicked."

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**A/N: Ha! Another cliffie! Well, sort of. Anyways, I'm glad I managed to get this up before I left - I didn't want to leave it at the last chapter. Please leave a review! And again, I will not be here for the next few weeks.**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Many apologies for the delay. For some reason, even though I had this chapter perfectly mapped out in my head, I was having a really hard time putting it into words. Hopefully the next chapter will be up sooner.

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"You panicked?" Mercedes echoed, staring at Puck like he'd sprouted a second head identical to Rachel Berry. "What do you mean, _you panicked_?"

He leaned his hands against the sink, facing away from her (though he didn't know that). "I just… I didn't know what to do."

"Puck, if you don't start giving me some straight answers in the next ten seconds, so help me, I will—"

Her threat was interrupted as the front door banged open, quickly followed by a gruff shout of, "Noah!"

Puck visibly tensed as a middle-aged man stalked into the kitchen. "What the fuck happened to the coffee table?" he demanded.

"Sarah was making a fort," Puck answered, tight-lipped.

"Huh. Figures. You tell that little brat the next time she wants to play hide and seek to use her own goddamn furniture."

Mercedes flinched, startled by the vehemence in the man's words. From what little she'd seen of Sarah, the girl was anything but a brat. She racked her brains, trying to remember anything Puck could have said to give a clue as to who this guy was. His dad? Puck was an ass, to be sure, but not nearly enough of one to merit a genetic tendency towards bullying. Stepdad, maybe.

The muscles beneath Puck's eyes tightened, and suddenly Mercedes knew that shit was about to hit the fan. "Don't talk about my sister that way," Puck said, his voice low and even.

The corner of the man's mouth twitched ever so slightly, though Mercedes couldn't tell whether it was from anger or amusement. "She's my kid. I'll talk about her any way I fucking want to."

Oh. His dad.

Puck's fists curled. "She's my sister, and I say you fucking can't, _Bill_," he spat.

The elder Puckerman planted his hands on his hips, a gesture that made him look nearly identical to Puck for a split second (though Mercedes would never admit that to him). "Kid, I'm the man of this house."

"Tell that to Mom the next time you fucking disappear for another fucking six months."

"Keep using that kinda language to me and I swear to God I'll kick your ass to the streets."

Puck laughed, a hollow laugh that Mercedes had never heard before. She hated it instantly. "I'd like to see you try."

Mercedes felt her heart drop into her stomach. Puck was taller than his dad by a few inches, but the guy still looked like he could beat the crap out of him if he wanted to. He almost made Puck look scrawny. But just when she was absolutely sure that Bill was going to take a swing at him, a small, shaky voice interrupted from the doorway.

"Noah?"

"Go to your room, Sarah," Puck said without breaking eye contact.

"No, stay, sweetie," Bill countered, a slight smile playing across his lips.

"Am I in trouble about the coffee table?"

"Go to your room," Puck said again. "_Now._"

In the blink of an eye, Bill had crossed the room, grabbed Puck by his ear and twisted hard, pushing down so that Puck was bending nearly in half. "I _told_ you… I'm the man of this house. I'm the one who tells Sarah what to do."

Puck was clearly in some amount of pain from the way his dad was twisting his ear, but Mercedes couldn't tell how much because he was somehow maintaining the stone-calm expression that she'd seen only a handful of times, whenever his unborn baby was involved. His eyes were somehow neutral and seething at the same time, and he was staring a hole into the kitchen tile as Bill continued to snarl about who was boss.

_God, Puck, why are you holding back?_ Mercedes thought. _You can take him._

A sniffle to her right grabbed Mercedes' attention, and her heart went from her stomach to her throat when she saw Sarah clinging to the doorframe, crying as she watched what Mercedes could only guess was a regular occurrence. When Puck's face slowly began to turn reddish as the blood flowed to his head, Bill finally let go with a final shove. Puck stood upright again, cricking his neck.

"Glad you understand," Bill sneered, reaching into the fridge for a beer can. "And as for _you_," he snapped, turning to Sarah, who flinched. "How many times have I told you to stay away from my goddamn furniture?"

Puck slapped the can out of Bill's hand and it spilled across the floor, fizzing. "I've had just about enough of your bullshit, Bill. I told you not to talk to her like that."

"And I told _you_ that I'm the man of the house, you little shithead," Bill said, growing angrier.

Sarah ran forward and beat her fists against Bill's abdomen, screaming, "_Don't call Noah a shithead!_" over and over again. Suddenly, she yelped as Bill clamped his hand around the back of her neck, yanking her away from him.

After that, it all happened very fast.

Puck took one look at his dad's hand grasping his sister's neck and delivered a swift and powerful punch to his nose. Bill let out a yell of surprise and pain as blood dripped from his nostrils, and Sarah darted to the other side of the room as soon as he let go of her. Before Bill had a chance to defend himself, Puck had pinned him to the floor and was blindly pummeling his dad's face, arms, chest, and any other body part he could reach. Mercedes watched in horror, wishing she could reach forward and pull Puck off his dad but knowing that if she did it would have no effect. Her mind scrambled and before she could really think, she yelled, "_Puck, stop!_"

Either he didn't hear her or he ignored her, so she screamed again, louder. "_PUCK!_"

He froze, his fist raised, looking around the room for a second before moving to punch Bill for the umpteenth time.

"Puck," she said again, throwing as much urgency into her voice as she could. "Your sister."

That made him stop. He looked over to where Sarah was pressed against the wall, crying hard, and with a final growl, he stood up and let Bill roll over, coughing and dripping blood from his nose and mouth onto the floor. Puck leaned down, grabbing Bill by the front of his shirt and hoisting him up so they were almost nose-to-nose, and spoke in an even undertone. "If you _ever_ lay a hand on Sarah again…I swear to God, I will kill you in your fucking sleep."

Mercedes' stomach churned at the severity in Puck's tone – he meant every word.

"Now get out of my house."

* * *

Mercedes sat in the desk chair in Puck's bedroom, having followed him upstairs after Bill had slunk out. Puck had slammed the door shut after him and then collapsed on his bed, just staring at the ceiling. Mercedes could almost hear the gears in his head turning as he processed everything that had already happened that day – from beating up his dad to hearing disembodied voices – and she wondered again if this was some sort of karma in order to give her a window into other people's true character. First Brad, now Puck… How long did she have to do this for?

"I'm still here," she told him, for lack of anything better to say.

He jumped. "That's some creepy stalker shit, Aretha. Jesus Christ."

"Puck, I need to know what happened. Please tell me."

He sighed, sitting up and running his hand through his Mohawk. She didn't think she'd ever seen him so rattled, but she supposed that under the circumstances in shouldn't have been surprising. "I, uh… I was driving back after fight club, and I… I kinda had too much to drink…"

Mercedes' heart sank. She didn't like where this was heading. "I was a _hit and run?_" she cried, her voice cracking. "Oh, my God…"

Puck didn't say anything for a long while, and finally Mercedes spoke again. "Puck, this doesn't explain why I'm missing."

He was about to respond when a voice interrupted from the doorway. "Who are you talking to, Noah?"

Puck whipped around to see Sarah standing just outside the room, looking at him with a sort of concerned curiosity. He sighed and glanced around the empty room. "Nobody," he said. "I'm just talking to myself."

* * *

**A/N: Leave a review and let me know what you think, and after you do that, I've posted three new installments for _Expect the Unexpected_ that you'll love - _Mind Over Matter_ (for Artie), _Aquarius_ (for Tina), and _Somewhere Under the Rainbow_ (for Rachel and Mr. Schue).**


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Oh my God. I cannot even BEGIN to put into words how badly I feel for not updating this. First of all, I hit one of the worst walls of writer's block I've EVER experienced, and then when it finally lifted, my cat chewed up my computer's power cord, so I haven't had access to what I had written for a VERY long time. Anyways, I really hope that some of you are still with me on this.**

* * *

Mercedes waited quietly for Sarah to wander off before speaking to Puck again. He was sitting on the edge of his bed, his head cradled in his hands. "Look, Puck…" she began. "I don't like where this is going any more than you do. But you need to _help me_. I can't stay like this forever."

Puck inhaled and exhaled very, very slowly, giving no sign that he'd heard her.

"Puck," she started again. "Whatever you did…don't you think you'd feel better if you helped me? You could clear your conscience."

"I'd go to jail," he said softly.

Mercedes pursed her lips and circled around so that she was standing in front of him, her hands on her hips. Her pose was useless, since he couldn't see her, but it made her feel a tiny bit better. "Listen, white boy," she snapped. "I've had just about enough of your wallowing in guilt and self-pity. _You_ ran me over with _your_ truck, and now _you're_ going to fix it. At the _very_ least, I deserve to know where the hell my body is. And if you decide to stay in your room and keep wallowing, then so help me I will haunt you for the rest of your life."

Puck let out a hollow chuckle at that.

"Come _on_, Mohawk. Let's go."

Puck sighed, shaking his head. "I can't."

Mercedes stared at him, at a loss for what to do.

"You are such a coward," she finally said.

* * *

She left Puck's house in a huff of frustration and despair, feeling more helpless than she'd ever felt. She wasn't used to being out of control – she was a leader, even if Rachel and Finn would never let her be. She'd always taken the bull by the horns and solved her own problems. She was independent and she didn't like asking for help, so now, when she'd finally bucked up and asked because she _needed_ help more than anything in the world right now and she didn't have a _choice_, she'd been rejected.

Clenching her jaw and sending a quick prayer skyward, she began to march quickly down the street, heading for the only other place she could think of to go. Even if she weren't able to receive help or even ask for it there, at least it would provide some solace.

Or so she thought.

The door to the house was unlocked when she got there. Inside, even though she'd spent countless hours here in the past, the house felt unfamiliar and inexplicably different. She passed by the kitchen and the living room and found the door leading down to the basement, descending the stairs slowly and quietly despite the fact that she knew no one would see or hear her.

Kurt was sitting at his vanity table, his back uncharacteristically slumped and his hair still slightly mussed from sleep, though it was well into the afternoon. He'd clearly put some effort into making it presentable, but it looked like he'd just given up on it halfway through the process. Mercedes heart twisted as she edged up behind him and saw that he was holding his cell phone, the small screen showing a photo from just last week. The picture showed her and Kurt making goofy faces at the camera, the angle crooked since Kurt had taken the shot himself.

She swallowed, taking a deep breath as she leaned against the vanity table next to him. "Kurt?" she said. "Can you hear me?" She knew that the odds that he could hear her were astronomical at best, but if Puck had heard her, then there had to be a chance that Kurt could too. Her lip trembled when Kurt didn't look away from the phone or notice that she'd spoken. His eyes weren't red or blotchy, but there were dried tear tracks on his cheeks from several hours before and his face was slightly contorted, as if he was trying not to breathe.

Though she knew very well that he wouldn't notice, Mercedes could not stop herself from reaching forward and wrapping her arms around him in a tight and desperate hug. A few tears worked their way out of the corners of her eyes against her will, and she choked out, "I miss you so much."

"Kurt?"

Mercedes let go of him and stepped back to see Burt Hummel descending the stairs.

Kurt didn't turn around. "What?" he said. God, he sounded exhausted.

"You want something to eat?" Burt asked, his hands deep in his pockets.

"No, thanks," Kurt sighed. Mercedes' heart skipped again. She'd never heard his voice that… dead.

"Hey," Burt said softly, coming around to Kurt's side and putting a hand on his shoulder. "They'll find her. Don't worry."

Kurt let out a half-growl of frustration and stood up. "Everyone keeps telling me not to worry, but you know what? I haven't been this worried since right before Mom died, and telling me not to freak out only makes me freak out _more_." He sighed again, rubbing a hand over his forehead. "I _know_ Mercedes. She wouldn't run away. Something's happened to her, and I don't know what and it's _driving me insane_."

Mercedes had to fight the overpowering urge to scream _I'm right here, Kurt! I'm right here!_ as she knew it would only serve to make her feel even more powerless and alone, but she remained frozen to the spot, unable to tear her eyes away from Kurt's pained expression.

It was a mistake to come here, she thought.

Burt pressed his mouth into a tight line, his shoulders slouching. "I understand what you're feeling, Kurt—"

"_No_, you don't, Dad. Sitting by your dying wife's bedside is not the same thing as not knowing if she's alive or dead."

Burt remained calm, knowing that being unflustered was the only way to act around his son when Kurt was working himself into a stress fit. "Okay, maybe I don't really understand," he admitted after a moment. Kurt wasn't meeting his eye and instead was staring at a spot in the wall behind him, his arms crossed. "You need to know that I'm here for _you_, and I'll do whatever you want right now. You want me to go out and join the search party or picket in front of the police station? I'll do it. But you also need to know that worrying yourself sick in your room is not doing Mercedes any good, and it's not doing _you_ any good."

Kurt's Adam's apple bobbed up and down, and his face contorted even further. Mercedes could see that in the next few seconds, he would break down into violent sobs, but that would be more than she could handle.

She turned on her heel and ran up the stairs.

* * *

The biggest problem with this entire situation, Mercedes thought, was the fact that she really only had a handful of places where she could go and feel somewhat productive, so once she left Kurt's house, she headed straight back to Puck's.

She couldn't help but roll her eyes when she found Puck _still_ in his room, now lying on his side on the bed with his back to her and the door. A faint snore sounded from the bed, and Mercedes sighed, wondering how long it would be until he'd wake up and would be able to help her, or at least be able to listen to her yelling at him.

She walked around the edge of the bed and sank into the desk chair where she'd sat only a couple hours before, and did a double-take when she realized that Puck wasn't alone in the bed. His arm was draped over Sarah's scrawny frame, and she was wide awake and toying with the bracelet on his wrist as she hummed a tuneless melody under her breath.

Mercedes' jaw almost dropped – despite the fact that she'd clearly seen Puck's love for his sister, she could never have pictured him simply falling asleep with his arm protectively around her. It was so… fitting and unfitting at the same time. It reminded her of the amazingly genuine expression on his face when Beth had been first cleaned off and handed to him, and the expression on his face now was more calm and relaxed than she'd ever seen.

The strange spell was broken when he abruptly snorted awake and squinted in the late afternoon sunlight, rubbing his eyes with a light groan.

"Bad dreams again?" Sarah asked.

Mercedes' eyebrows shot up. Puck had never seemed like the type who had nightmares.

"None of your business," he said quickly, but his tone held no trace of irritation. He glanced at the clock on the wall and pushed Sarah gently. "Okay, get up. You want mac'n'cheese for dinner?"

Sarah gave a wide, gap-toothed grin and an enthusiastic "Yeah!" before streaking out of the room and thumping downstairs.

Mercedes shook herself back into reality and seized the opportunity. "Puck, I'm back."

Puck jumped, reflexively looking around the room.

"Look, I'm sorry for calling you a coward," she said. "But I'm getting desperate here. Will you _please_ help me?"

He rubbed a hand over his face and through his mohawk. "I have to make dinner for Sarah."

"You can do that first."

Puck sighed, then heaved himself to his feet. "Okay, Aretha. But only because I don't want you stalking me for the rest of my life."

She smacked him. He didn't notice.

* * *

**A/N: So, the few of you who are still reading and can somehow forgive me for not updating in such a long time, I would be ever grateful to you if you could leave a review :)**


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